Jing Shu's head gave a sharp boom, and then she blacked out completely.
That was right. To activate this portable space, there was no need for blood sacrifice, no need for chanting spells. All it took was solving the scrambled Cube within the time limit. Once completed, it would take root in her spiritual world and recognize her as its master.
Who could ever imagine that a simple toy Cube could contain an entire dimension? Other people's spaces were always housed in rings, bracelets, necklaces, or, at the most bizarre, directly in their minds as a psychic ability.
But Jing Shu's Cube space came with such harsh activation conditions. Without her rebirth, there was no way anyone could ever discover it.
No matter what, fate had shifted at last.
When Jing Shu woke again, it was to the shrill ringing of her phone. The sound felt like a death knell, blaring endlessly until she staggered up from the floor. She set down the Cube that had now transformed from a four-layer to a five-layer form, then picked up her phone. The caller ID lit up: Zhu Zhengqi.
Jing Shu's mind drifted back, and memories from ten years ago gradually resurfaced as she pressed the answer button.
"Hello? Why didn't you pick up? I've got great news for you!" Zhu Zhengqi's voice boomed with excitement. "I found 'StarDream Entertainment' to sign you! They'll handle everything: promotion, marketing team, public persona, packaging, the whole package! It's pricey, sure, but all the hottest idols right now? They were pushed out by this company. Sister, you're finally going to blow up!"
Jing Shu's memory stirred. As a child, her dream had always been to become a star. Later, she entered a third-tier art academy in Wu City, only to realize that being an actress or a celebrity wasn't so simple. You needed either a powerful father, a sugar daddy, or a soul so unique that it dazzled others.
Because beautiful faces were everywhere, but a truly fascinating soul was one in ten thousand.
Aside from her looks, Jing Shu had nothing. So she lowered her expectations. After graduation, she tried to livestream from home, hoping to become a popular streamer. Unfortunately, no one watched. Desperate, she asked for help from her father's colleague's son, Zhu Zhengqi, who found her a marketing team. Their initial plan was to use fake popularity—buying bot followers, spamming comments, showering her with fake tips, inflating her numbers.
In short, it was all smoke and mirrors. They pretended she was already popular to lure in real fans.
"The electronic contract is already in your inbox. Go print it out, sign it, press your fingerprint, then wire over a three-hundred-thousand deposit."
"Hello? Jing Shu? Say something, will you?"
Jing Shu narrowed her eyes, sifting through her memories. In her previous life, when she got this call from Zhu Zhengqi, she had been overjoyed. Her parents supported her dream, scraping together money by selling their car and even their shop to fund her attempt at becoming an influencer. Through fabricated personas, endless marketing hype, and rooms filled with tens of thousands of water army trolls stirring fake engagement, she did manage to become popular.
But just as advertising deals started rolling in, the apocalypse came. Her brief fame was snuffed out instantly. It had been nothing but bitter misfortune.
In this life, Jing Shu had no interest in becoming a celebrity or a livestream star.
"Zhu Zhengqi, thank you for everything. You've done a lot for me these past weeks. But I've suddenly decided—I don't want to be an influencer anymore. I'll explain things to my father and Uncle myself." Jing Shu's voice was calm.
Zhu Zhengqi's tone spiked with urgency. "What? Suddenly you don't want to? This has been your lifelong dream! You can't just—" His voice trailed into curses and protests.
Jing Shu suddenly remembered the real reason Zhu Zhengqi had been so enthusiastic in her past life. He had secretly skimmed fifty thousand yuan off the top. Later, Father Jing had even given him another generous red packet out of gratitude. Worst of all, the actual price wasn't that high at all. By going through Zhu Zhengqi, the cost had ballooned to nearly double. It was the kind of betrayal only a so-called friend would dare pull.
"I just don't want it anymore."
Thinking about the Cube space, Jing Shu abruptly hung up, closed her eyes, and whispered in her heart: "Cube Space."
The world around her instantly shifted. Her spirit body was drawn inside.
Darkness engulfed her, broken only by a gigantic glowing Cube radiating white light. Each block had its own boundary lines, and Jing Shu could zoom in or out, peering over the entire structure like a god watching from above.
The rules of the Cube space were clear. Anything could be stored here—except humans or other intelligent beings. Even Jing Shu herself could not physically enter, only her spiritual body could control it. Fortunately, her authority over this space was absolute.
At the beginning, the Cube space measured only sixty-four cubic meters. But it could be upgraded endlessly.
At its core was a single cubic meter of Spirit Spring. It bubbled ceaselessly, feeding six dark soil fields surrounding it.
The Spirit Spring produced twenty drops of liquid every day—about one gram in total. If the six fields were left unplanted, the spring produced six extra drops. The spring was unimaginably precious, and its output was pitifully small.
So the Cube space equaled: one cubic meter of Spirit Spring + six cubic meters of farmland + fifty-seven cubic meters of free space.
Think of it this way: one spring, six soil blocks. Each of the six soil surfaces could be planted. Crops would root in the soil and then grow upward into the space. The remaining fifty-seven cubic meters could be freely arranged like pieces of Tetris, forming any kind of structure she wanted.
As long as the roots were in the soil, no matter how tall, the plant could grow without restriction.
Finally, time flowed normally in the soil plots. Each drop of spring water doubled a crop's growth speed and increased its yield.
But in the storage areas, time froze as long as only food or objects were stored. If animals or living creatures were placed inside, time flowed normally.
That meant the Cube space could function as a permanent storage vault, a farmland, and even a breeding ground. Those fifty-seven modular spaces could be arranged however she pleased, even stacked together like a giant Tetris puzzle.
In the apocalypse, where sunlight no longer reached the earth and crops withered, this Cube space would be her lifeline.